


A Steady Hand

by Saucery



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon, Badwrong, Chris Argent's School of Morally Ambiguous Psychotherapy, Conditioning, Cruel to be Kind, D/s, DILFs, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dissociative Episode, Dominance, Drama, Dubious Ethics, Flirting, Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Inspired By The Winchesters, M/M, Or is it Kind to be Cruel?, Orphans, Past Abuse, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Road Trips, Seduction, Sexual Fantasy, Slice of Life, Submission, Subtextual Sadomasochism, Subtextual Spanking, Supernatural Elements, Training, Triggers, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, What Does That Say About the Winchesters?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Stiles needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Steady Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [creaturexlll](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=creaturexlll).



> Written as a tribute to Creature's marvelous [Chris/Stiles art](http://creaturexlll.tumblr.com/post/29707899064/two-hunters-on-the-road-au-dreamy-sigh). This is probably more twisted than Creature imagined it, though. Whoops?

* * *

 

"It's dead," Stiles says, and nudges the body with his shoe.

"It isn't salted," Chris counters, and proceeds to salt the heck out of that thing. That... manticore-like... rabbit-faced... thing.

Stiles shrugs. So sue him, he's kinda behind on his lore. He  _isn't_  behind on orgasms, though. And he doesn't plan to be. "Wanna make out when we're done?"

"We're never done."

"I was very  _well_ -done. Just last night. I've got the aching ass to prove it."

"Stiles - "

"What? Going all mentor on me, again? You know you can't resist my pretty lil' mouth, Daddy."

Chris winces. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? It always makes you shove me down by the back of my neck and fuck me deep enough to split me in two. Methinks the DILF doth protest too much."

Chris huffs and sets fire to the creature's corpse with a snap of his silver lighter. The monster goes up in smoke, with a sudden, green-flamed _whoosh_  that makes Stiles take a spooked step backward. Chris slants a mild look at him and strides to their car, slinging his gun over his shoulder.

He looks sexy when he does that. The Cowboy Strut. Damn. "I mean, sure, I got Daddy issues after being picked up from an orphanage by a gang of Hunters and shuttled from clan to Hunter clan before you chose me as your heir and decided to train the living fuck outta me. Sometimes literally. But you don't mind lookin' after my needs, do you, Daddy? You don't mind my quick little tongue, or what it can  _do_  for you -"

"Stiles." Chris rubs his forehead. "If you don't shut up, I'll - "

"Gag me? Oh,  _yeah_. Do that. Make me nice and quiet, nice and sweet for you, spread out and held open for your dick, not saying a  _word_."

Chris snorts. "The day you don't say a word is the day hell freezes over."

"Or the day you gag me." Stiles raises an eyebrow at Chris's half-hearted glare. "What?"

Chris pops open the trunk, stows his gun in there, and takes Stiles's gun from him to put it in there, too. "Get in the goddamn car, kid."

"No sex?" Stiles pouts. That's the best part of training to be a Hunter - frequent road-sex with his trainer. That might be part of the reason he isn't hurrying up with his training, much, and isn't taking the trouble to memorize the lore.

"I didn't say that."

Stiles brightens. "You didn't?"

"There's a motel a ways up the interstate," Chris says, locking the trunk back up.

"A motel, huh?" Stiles grins. "I can get behind that. Or, wait,  _you_  can. Heh."

Chris flicks Stiles's nose, and it's a startlingly playful gesture, startlingly fond. "No gags."

Whoa. "You like it when I talk?"

Chris's face does something weird, a shifting of layers like the shuffling of a pack of cards, except each one of the cards is an ace, sharp and dark.

Stiles's breath catches.

And then Chris is Chris again, the same guy whose stubble has grown familiar trailing its velvety burn across Stiles's belly, the same guy whose arms feel safe and solid around Stiles at night, the same guy that's looked after Stiles for the last eighteen months, in every way, from feeding him to clothing him to teaching him how to stay alive to fucking him. 

Everything Stiles needs, Chris gives to him, and more.

Sure, he doesn't make Stiles call him 'sir' and he doesn't make Stiles beg to come, but Stiles is almost certain he can get Chris to do that with him, one of these days. Stiles misses it, sometimes, the harshness that used to keep him in place, with the other families. The discipline that used to anchor him. That used to make him feel like he belonged, if only for a while. He tends to shoot his mouth off around Chris, in more ways than one, but Chris has been exceedingly tolerant - more so than anyone else.

Maybe that's why Stiles keeps pushing him. Maybe he just wants Chris to push  _back_. Hold him down. Contain him. Keep him. Break him. Mend him. What was it that old lady had said back in that second-hand supplies store, a while ago? 'You break it, you buy it.' Maybe that's what Stiles wants. For Chris to break him. And buy him. For good. Use him. Find him useful. _Make_ him useful. Love him. Hone him. Keep him.  _Keep_  him -

But maybe the reason Chris doesn't push back, unless Stiles really pushes it, is because Chris doesn't have a family, any longer - that he left his previous clan for (it's rumored) ethical reasons, whatever those are. (Ethical? Seriously?) That there was some weird arson stuff with his sister that sent him out of the house. And then, Chris was a one-man clan, for more than a decade. Until he found Stiles. Until he took him in. Eighteen months. It's been eighteen months, the longest Stiles has stayed with anyone, and still -

Maybe Chris doesn't need to take as stern a hand to Stiles as the others, because Stiles is his proper heir, now, not just the last, useless hanger-on in a clan of worthier children that share in the patriarch's or the matriarch's blood - or both.

Maybe Chris doesn't need to prove to Stiles that he owns him, because he just  _does_.

Maybe -

"Hey," murmurs Chris, and Stiles blinks back into awareness, shocked to see that they've been in the car and moving for quite some time, because they're almost at the Insterstate 15 interchange. Stiles can't even remember getting in the freaking car. "Where'd you go?"

Shit. Stiles hasn't zoned out in a long time. He hasn't. Honestly. He  _knows_  it's dangerous, and that in this job, it's likely to get him killed. Worse, it's likely to get him kicked out, because that crap is just incompetent. And mentally unstable. And - "Nowhere," he lies, but technically, it isn't a lie, because 'the past' isn't a place to go to, is it?

Chris is silent for a few minutes.

Shit. Shit.  _Shit_.

"Tell you what," says Chris, his voice the same rough-soft rumble as it is when he's soothing Stiles, when he's hurting Stiles, when he's making him feel _good_ , "when we get to that motel, you can suck me off on your knees. While touching yourself. But if you come before I do, I'll spank you so hard you'll beg me not to fuck you in the ass, later, because it'll be so sore. You'll beg me to keep coming in your mouth, and you'll cry while you're doing it."

Stiles  _shivers_. And smiles. And feels the colors return to his world, the rightness, the clarity. "Yes, Daddy," Stiles answers, already yearning for the weight of Chris's heavy, callused hand on his ass, striking him and striking him until he's red and flushed and molten as hot wax, too weak to do anything but mewl and sob helplessly when Chris flips him over and fucks him anyway, despite Stiles begging him not to. Despite -

Stiles needs that. Stiles  _needs_  -

And Chris always gives him everything he needs, doesn't he?

"Damn, Daddy," Stiles sighs, and strokes an absent thumb along his fly. "You just had to be a tease, didn't you?"

"You're the tease, here." And Chris's face has that tiny smirk on it, the smirk Stiles loves, the smirk that says Chris knows Stiles so thoroughly, Stiles might as well be transparent.

"I am?" Stiles blinks his eyes, feigning surprise. "I ain't a tease if I beg you to come down my throat and then let you do it, Daddy.  _You're_  the one who says you'll ream my ass, instead."

"Hm." Chris squints into the setting sun. "Decisions, decisions."

Stiles laughs, easing back against his seat, relaxed enough to consider going for an actual nap, this time. "Hell, yes."

 

* * *

**fin.**


End file.
